Kreska slept very well, in fact, utterly oblivious to the fact that she had chased someone out of her own bed. More like a cat than anything, it seemed, in her ability to decide that furniture was hers. In Rocket's absence Kreska wound up sprawling across her bed, arms wrapped around Rocket's pillow in a suspiciously cuddly sort of a way.
It was probably for the best that Rocket had fled, all told.
Her bed was going to smell like a pack of menthols and cheap liquor for days.
Kreska woke up slowly, her mouth tasting like tree bark and her head pounding. She smelled, she realized, godawful. There was definitely something gross in her hair. She yawned.
Rocket's house? Rocket's house. She was in Rocket's house. Was she in Rocket's bed? Shit. That was probably rude as fuck. Especially when she was nasty as hell. At least Rocket was nowhere to be found. Vague recollections from the night before were a haze in the back of her head. Had Rocket been here? She thought probably. She yawned again, stretching out all her limbs with little mewling noises as she arched her back and then fell back down against the mattress.
She should get up. Just laying around in Rocket's bed was Not Cool.
She hummed as she rolled to one side of the bed, trying to wake herself up enough to crawl out of it. "Good mornin'… good mor-nin'…" Looking over the edge of the bed revealed that while her pants were apparent, her jacket was not. Also, only one boot. Had she left those in the living room? "… we've talked the whole night through…" Honestly, her jeans looked pretty gross, too. She kind of didn't want to put them back on. "… good mornin', good mornin', to you…"
Rocket would have warned her if someone came over right? "Good mornin'… good mor-nin'…" She was probably safe to not wear pants. She needed to wash her hair. Shit. "… it's great to stay up late…" This was going to be a goddamn nightmare, was what this was. Usually she made Ix do this. She didn't have half the damn patience for this. "… good mornin', to you…" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed as she started to work on unraveling her braids, grateful at least that they were relatively short these days. She should have waited until she could get some kind of oil in them, but she didn't much care, and whatever was in her hair felt oily enough as it was.
The fuck had she even been doing? Motor oil. There was goddamn motor oil in her hair. Motorcycle. That's right. There was a guy with a motorcycle. Fuck that guy. "… now the milkman's on his way, it's too late to say goodnight…" God, this was tedious. She wasn't looking forward to braiding it again. Maybe she'd wait until she saw Ix. Wear a hat or something until then. Or a bandana, maybe. Something to keep her from wandering all over the goddamn colony looking like a fucking dandelion nightmare. "… we've gabbed the whole night through…"
Rocket wouldn't judge, though. She could get away with looking like this around Rocket.
She combed her fingers through her hair once the braids were gone, fluffing out her afro as a side-effect of trying to get everything loose. Her steps towards the stairs scuffed, and if she'd been wearing the right shoes they might have tapped.
Old habits. Whatever. She was tired.
She slid down the ladder, silent and wearing nothing besides what she'd worn to bed.
Yup. There was her other boot. There was her jacket. "Rocket," she called toward the garage, absolutely no idea where the woman was, tugging her shirt lower unsuccessfully. "Sorry 'boutcher bed."
She scratched the back of her head.
"… can I use your shower? … an' your washer?"
"… an' borrow some pants? Like… jus' temp'rary. 'till'm done wi'th' washer's all."
It was probably for the best that Rocket had fled, all told.
Her bed was going to smell like a pack of menthols and cheap liquor for days.
Kreska woke up slowly, her mouth tasting like tree bark and her head pounding. She smelled, she realized, godawful. There was definitely something gross in her hair. She yawned.
Rocket's house? Rocket's house. She was in Rocket's house. Was she in Rocket's bed? Shit. That was probably rude as fuck. Especially when she was nasty as hell. At least Rocket was nowhere to be found. Vague recollections from the night before were a haze in the back of her head. Had Rocket been here? She thought probably. She yawned again, stretching out all her limbs with little mewling noises as she arched her back and then fell back down against the mattress.
She should get up. Just laying around in Rocket's bed was Not Cool.
She hummed as she rolled to one side of the bed, trying to wake herself up enough to crawl out of it. "Good mornin'… good mor-nin'…" Looking over the edge of the bed revealed that while her pants were apparent, her jacket was not. Also, only one boot. Had she left those in the living room? "… we've talked the whole night through…" Honestly, her jeans looked pretty gross, too. She kind of didn't want to put them back on. "… good mornin', good mornin', to you…"
Rocket would have warned her if someone came over right? "Good mornin'… good mor-nin'…" She was probably safe to not wear pants. She needed to wash her hair. Shit. "… it's great to stay up late…" This was going to be a goddamn nightmare, was what this was. Usually she made Ix do this. She didn't have half the damn patience for this. "… good mornin', to you…" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed as she started to work on unraveling her braids, grateful at least that they were relatively short these days. She should have waited until she could get some kind of oil in them, but she didn't much care, and whatever was in her hair felt oily enough as it was.
The fuck had she even been doing? Motor oil. There was goddamn motor oil in her hair. Motorcycle. That's right. There was a guy with a motorcycle. Fuck that guy. "… now the milkman's on his way, it's too late to say goodnight…" God, this was tedious. She wasn't looking forward to braiding it again. Maybe she'd wait until she saw Ix. Wear a hat or something until then. Or a bandana, maybe. Something to keep her from wandering all over the goddamn colony looking like a fucking dandelion nightmare. "… we've gabbed the whole night through…"
Rocket wouldn't judge, though. She could get away with looking like this around Rocket.
She combed her fingers through her hair once the braids were gone, fluffing out her afro as a side-effect of trying to get everything loose. Her steps towards the stairs scuffed, and if she'd been wearing the right shoes they might have tapped.
Old habits. Whatever. She was tired.
She slid down the ladder, silent and wearing nothing besides what she'd worn to bed.
Yup. There was her other boot. There was her jacket. "Rocket," she called toward the garage, absolutely no idea where the woman was, tugging her shirt lower unsuccessfully. "Sorry 'boutcher bed."
She scratched the back of her head.
"… can I use your shower? … an' your washer?"
"… an' borrow some pants? Like… jus' temp'rary. 'till'm done wi'th' washer's all."
The following 2 users Like Tindome's post: Blade, danixiewrites
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RE: The Thorn [Closed] - by megs - 10-19-2019, 09:31 AM
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - by Tindome - 10-19-2019, 01:31 PM